Mistakes
by grimdarkcinnamon
Summary: They've been them, they've made them. Originally intended as a series of drabbles, plot now semi-designed involving parallels, Mello, Near, A, Watari, and self-destruction. Rating subject to change.
1. Collapse

Author's Note: I wrote this in about fifteen stolen minutes at 1 in the morning last night, so it hasn't been edited yet. Sorry.

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Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. If I did, I would have my own money (LOTS of it, XD) and would therefore not be running out of chocolate.

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"Let me ask again. Do you or do you not think of yourself as a bad person?"

Watari stood, and A flinched. He'd known he was in for this from the moment he made the stupid, stupid mistake of exposing himself. Granted, it was only for a second, but a second's all it takes to detonate.

As expected of him, being groomed for the position of L as he was, he tried to consider it from an objective standpoint… a selfish standpoint. Oh god, of course everything turned back to the issue at hand. That was, after all, why it WAS an issue in the eyes of everyone else and no longer his secret.

If he said no, that'd further him in the position of exactly what he perceived himself as being constantly accused of. A bad person. Not worthy of being L's replacement.

Not.

Worthy.

If he said yes, it'd still make it worse. Not that it was still his secret, safe and locked up with the rest of his own identity. It would never be again after what he'd done, but still. He'd like to preserve as much of a delusion that things were still the same as he could.

Which was the lesser of two evils?

It'd only been a few seconds, but he could feel Watari's gaze darken. He'd expected A to answer more quickly. After all, with an intellect like his it couldn't take too long to form an answer.

With an intellect like his he couldn't keep pretending Watari didn't know the answer.

With an intellect like his-

There's so much to break. So much room to snap, if there's so much room for greatness. And with all the expectations, of course he had. Who wouldn't?

Still, the immediate fear crippled him. It brought back memories of who he'd been before Wammy's had taken him.

He wanted to scream no and be done with it, tell them it was their fault. He wanted to believe what he knew was true- it wasn't his fault. He wasn't a bad person. He was just human-

a human raised badly, a human raised with the silent kind of pain you get so used to you deny. Not sharp pains. Not even ones that would leave scars. No, this was the only kind of pain you could ever really deny. It was poison. Work from the inside, leave nothing on the outside. And it'd taken its toll. Death toll, soon enough. Too soon.

Always too soon.

For whom the bells toll, to whom this may concern.

Who wouldn't snap under that kind of pressure?

He thought immediately of B, but he knew that wasn't true. He knew some of the things B did when nobody else was looking, when nobody else could hear.

True, he hadn't snapped, per se. More like been crushed.

He was poisonous.

He was crushed, and his poison juice spilled out and made its way into every eye. Burning them, blinding them.

He hurt.

Only A had plain cracked, split down the middle, shattered.

Fifteen seconds now. Watari was getting impatient.

He knew he'd die soon. What good could it do to lie now? And so he whispered with all the force of a million screams, the million screams inside him.

"Yes."

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Since this is my first story, reviews would be appreciated. ^_^


	2. Control

Author's Note: This one is from Near's perspective, just in case you couldn't tell, and "you" is Mello.

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Disclaimer: Last I checked, there've been no freak accidents and chains of luck that led to me owning Death Note. Therefore, still don't.

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"I am to be the god of the new world!"

To hear what Kira called himself, what Mikami called Kira, you would've snapped. Snapped, and the force of it all would've brought everything else down with you.

You'd say God is so much more than any mere human could ever be, but that was always misguided of you, to believe what they told you about that and nothing else. I say that's only because we humans are god- we siphon it all out of ourselves, distill it into this, make it into something animal again. Oh God, save me from myself.

Suck the life out of me, give it to this, make it into something processed again. It is so much easier without the human instincts.

I suppose I can understand what you believed better now, but it still confuses me.

They always said I was different, though. You were too, but only through virtue of being so much the world couldn't hold you, and twisting you into a monster was the only thing acceptable.

Such a sob story, we were, we are.

I've never sobbed. Not once, but I've watched you. You play at being cold like I am, but you're just excessive, aren't you?

I loved you when I couldn't understand you-

too bad that's gone, you're so rotten, you're destroyed.

It's like your God, your violence, your control. It distills the danger into something more concrete, something that can be worshipped or carried out or lorded over people you're secretly so afraid of.

…And I have my toys. It's my way of playing God.

You and I, we have something in common. We need control, but for such different reasons- you because you've never had it, I because I always have.

Not to mislead you, not that it's easy-

why do I think to you? You're dead.

Glory eternal. Kleos aphthiton. You always knew God has no place for you- the delicious taste of unreality that things out of dreams give you is all you have. Had. Like your life.

And here I am, sitting on the floor, playing and playing and listening and thinking and-

my dolls are your guns.

I have to say, I have never wished that I could've let you beat Kira instead. I don't like losing. Same as L.

At least you had that one parallel to him, in death. The death itself.

Maybe this is what it was like for you, thousands of voices in a few seconds. Overloading, overthinking, overheating.

I wonder if I'm still holding everything in.

…I am. Good.

And now I won. It must've been hell for you. So close that any deviation will always be worlds too far away.

But the blood on the floor now is Kira's, he's at our mercy, and I'll say I'm avenging you.

"You're nothing more than a murderer, and now you're in our hands. You have lost, and I'm not sorry."

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On a lighter note, you just lost the game.


	3. Conviction

Author's Note: I'm not entirely happy with this one. Mello is my favorite character, by far the most complex (in my mind), and I don't think I did my idea of him justice at ALL. I felt like putting a little Matt with Mello would work, since they're kind of tangled. Mind you, I'm not a MxM shipper by any means, and I don't think they were very emotionally close. I get the feeling Mello was a lot more- blinded by the light of everything, I guess, so much it turned into a world of darkness for him (gawd, I sound so emo). Matt probably understood more about Mello than vice versa, and I do feel that he was probably more a follower of Mello, but completely consciously. He knew what he was doing, he'd taken his options, and he judged them best. Also, I'm probably going to do one of Matt's own next, because I like the idea of the games. I have to say, I have a _hell_ of a lot more emotional investment in my portrayal of Mello.

…alright, done ranting, read nao.

a/n no. 2: i have a headache. this is a lame chapter. i am afraid of things, i am afraid of being nothing, i don't know how this connects to the chapter but i'm saying it anyways and screw you everybody, screw the world, this is not a good place, but there's hope, of course there's hope. in a way mello and near remind me respectively of achilles and odysseus, always loved the ancient stories, not so much the languages. used to, but now it's my goddamn destiny. so yes, anger, yes, i know the capitalization falters, it's for a reason, believe it, i'll do better ones for matt and mello later. force of nature, that's what they could've been if not for the goddamn world.

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Disclaimer: Death Note is, fortunately, not my responsibility. I'm merely borrowing the characters and some of the plot, because they are awesome. If, on the other hand, it WAS my responsibility, they would be much less awesome, so be glad the people who own it and make it are the people who own it and make it and not me.

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"L is dead."

the screen burned, it was black but it was SO

MUCH

MORE

to him, inside it burned more than the flames, more than the day his parents died, more than the house and his parents and his books and his life

he could burn like that. he would burn like that.

fire was pretty; pretty, that is, if you didn't mind the pain.

the pain could be beautiful if you did it right, couldn't it? breaks, like if you crack open a cut again and it bleeds all over, so pretty it makes everything that red color.

Matt was in interesting boy; interesting, but too subservient.

(maybe he came off a little too submissive; Mello used him, but didn't he know he let himself be used? Tools for better things, better things than he could be alone.

Alone, he still had the games, games give you instant gratification-

they could let you be so much more, he knew, it was lovely and horrible and-

plastic, commercialized.

Burn plastic, the fumes are poisonous.)

Now-

would be a good time-

the release rage. Acceptable.

Nice not to lie.

He'd have to lie afterwards, of course, for the plans, repress things it hurt to, but yes. That's what you just have to do sometimes, isn't it? L never wanted to DIE for the Kira case-

did he?

Mello would die to beat Near, to beat that freaky kid, not human, so much less than human, human was burning and wound up and poisonous and screaming screaming screaming to him

Not quite, to Near. He seemed peaceful, measured everything.

Thought like he was solving a puzzle, he always was solving a puzzle. Mello never liked puzzles- more for playing pretend, or for just plain fighting. Control, fake control, give him all he can get

(but yes, the games, the games are wonderful and strange and in a way they were his kind of control.

save the princess, get the extra lives, get points. so much clearer and you didn't have to pretend you're pretending like you do when you play LIFE

life's a nasty game, you never get points, and you never know all the rules, and they always come back to bite you in the ass, don't they?

Lighten the mood a little, Matt. You always had a good sense of humor.)

thoughts aren't even words- chemicals, electrical signals, right?

learn to measure it like Near, learn to control it, he should but nobody wants to, do they?

(He wished he knew a way to measure out the pain. It's all physical, isn't it? Everything we say is so much more than physical.

Love.

Grief.

Hatred.

Sheer, slithering disbelief that runs down your spine, down your veins, through every inch of your body and destroys you from the inside.

All our meaning can burn in the firelight with the bodies on the pyre, can't it?)

He would gain control. Someday, somehow, control. The power to break. Break like he'd been broken and they never could again, hold the world at gunpoint, shock them into submission with the most unreal, unbelieving smirk plastered on his face. This game hurts him, he'll break the goddamn pieces.

And so he let go, he shattered, one simple question, and burned and burned and burned.

"Why play by rules that allow things like this?"

(And so he knew, knew everything was wrong, knew the only way out was to cut straight through this spiderweb-

he whispers four words, the last he heard from his mother-

"I can't do it.")


End file.
